Common Observation
by Val-Creative
Summary: Emil leaps onto Michele's cot, smiling and rubbing his newly shaven jaw. Out of the corner of his eyes, Michele can glimpse the little red bumps along Emil's pale cheek where the razor irritated his skin. "I like your glasses." The earnestly spoken compliment heats up the surface of Michele's ears. /Canon Era. Emimike. Oneshot.


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With their close friend visiting, Sara insists on a long weekend. Just the three of them.

Michele doesn't mind it _that_ much, just as long as Sara keeps her word about not running off with boys.

(Of course it doesn't last long.)

The weather is sweltering hot in Elciego, Spain, and the local men are shirtless with bulging muscles, their chests and arms covered in thick, dark hair. Michele can't honestly blame her—they're all _gorgeous_. Sara is just a little more vocal about her attraction to boys than Michele is.

Right before sunset, his twin sister yells her goodbyes from a safe distance, hopping onto a grinning stranger's moped. She clings on as they roar out in a cloud of dust. Michele glares silently from the vineyard's fence, arms tightly folded to himself. That boy may be cute, but he'll be _dead_ if Sara gets hurt…

A hand touches over Michele's shoulder, gripping on.

"Wanna head inside?" Emil asks pleasantly, canting his head at the other man. His too-cheerful nature sometimes gets on Michele's nerves, but he really is a _good_ friend to him and Sara.

Michele nods with lips thinning together, and doesn't shrug off Emil's hand.

Their hotel is famed for being _avant-garde._ Gigantic blue and pink titanium ribbons surround the front of the _Marqués de Riscal_ , more or less for decoration and an unique architectural choice. The restaurant and bar themed in reds and golds and introduced as first-class prices, as well as spa wing.

The lamplight illuminates the double-suite in a faint, golden glow. Michele changes into a pair of drawstring, white pin-striped slacks, lounging against pillows and scrolling absently through his mobile's feed.

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 **v_nikiforov** I love being married! **yuuri+katsuki #blessed #iloveyou #weddingrings**

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 **phitchit+chuu** hanging out with **seung-gillee** for some **#karaoke** tonight! I didn't know the boy could sing! **#picoftheday #goals #amazing #bestsinger**

 **mila_babicheva** 👀 👀 👀 👀

 **phichit+chuu** lmao!

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 **+guanghongji+** my little sister's jazz recital

 **#proud**

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But nothing from Sara's account.

The bathroom door swings open, crashing against the wall, following a low " _oops_ " murmured out.

Emil leaps onto Michele's cot, smiling and rubbing his newly shaven jaw. Out of the corner of his eyes, Michele can glimpse the little red bumps along Emil's pale cheek where the razor irritated his skin.

"I like your glasses."

The earnestly spoken compliment heats up the surface of Michele's ears. He frowns, not looking at Emil staring right at him, adjusting his silver-rimmed reading glasses tilting down his nose.

"They're not for sale," he mumbles.

Emil's sudden, amused laugh catches him off-guard. Michele narrows his eyes.

"Laugh all you want… they're still not for sale."

Somehow that response only makes the other man laugh harder.

What's _with_ him? Emil can be overly silly at times, but why does it feel like he's trying to make fun of him? _Jerk_.

Michele huffs, his ears reddening. He tosses his mobile aside.

"The wifi is down—this is bullshit."

"Really?" Emil quiets down, only letting a couple giggles slip out. His blue eyes full of bright, solemn emotion. He reaches out wordlessly and takes Michele's hand into both of his own, peering at dark brown fingers.

"What the _HELL_ —?"

"Calm down, Mickey," Emil reassures him in a low voice, giving him a softer smile. Michele tugs a little from his grasp, but using halfhearted strength. "It's fine. You're bored, I'm bored. Let me do a palm-reading."

It takes another moment before Michele rolls his eyes and scowls a bit, looking away.

"… Did your mom teach you?"

There's a hint of _dimples_ when Emil smiles so wildly.

"Who else?"

He's visited Emil's family in Prague once before—and without Sara. Mrs. Nekola had been distant and grim, but her youngest son and her husband were friendly and _loud_ just like Emil. She spend her time perfecting her tarot-reading business and spirit-calling. Michele knows as a kid, Emil had been taught lessons from her.

With Emil's longstanding hobby of extreme sports, Michele wonders why he would still interested and focused in his mom's studies. It's not really his business _why_ … but sometimes…

A thoughtful hum pulls Michele out of distracted thinking. The other man wiggles Michele's narrow and tapering fingers. "Long palm, long fingers means you're impulsive and moody," Emil says teasingly.

"And you're an idiot."

" _Mickeeeey_ …"

Emil whines out, his eyes blowing up into ridiculously huge proportions, swimming with tears.

"Ugh, whatever, just get it over with," Michele complains quietly, rubbing his fingers over his temple.

Nothing happens until he feels Emil's forefinger tap repeatedly on his palm.

"This is your life line, look."

Michele peers at his palm skeptically. He barely sees whatever line he's talking about.

"It's a long and deep line, so that means you don't sick that often." Emil's fingertip brushes several lines upwards. "And these branches coming off your life line mean you're very ambitious and a dreamer," Emil informs him, chuckling.

He traces the edge of Michele's palm to the other side.

"And this is your heart line. It's longer than your life line, and curves up, so you like expressing your feelings, whether or not they're romantic."

Michele puts up with the constant _ticklish_ sensations for now, mouth twitching upwards.

Emil shows him his own fingernails, beaming. "You have wider fingernails too so that indicates you are open-minded about different things but have a short temper when something doesn't go the way you want."

 _True_ …

But all of this sounds like common observation.

"Is this a cross?" Michele asks, tapping on his own palm, curling in his fingers.

Emil blinks, appearing confused before recognizing it.

"Oh, you're right," he says, examining the two intersected lines under Michele's little finger. "That… _umm_. I'm not sure? Having a cross there doesn't always indicate strong religious beliefs. It could also mean your judgment relies on physical appearance, and that your sexual desires could be related to how you…"

Michele chokes on a sip of bottled water, staring gobsmacked as Emil lowers his face, trailing off purposely. He circles a forefinger lazily around the thickened and prominent base of Michele's thumb.

"When your 'Mount of Venus' is bigger like this, it's a good sign that you're excellent in bed…"

Emil's touch and his deepened, throaty voice _burns_ him up. Michele's tongue feels drier than before his previous chug of water. "Are you… being serious with me right now?" he whispers, as if memorized.

It's not _fair_.

They're alone in this hotel room and Emil cannot just make _fun_ of him like this— _wait_ —

A breathless noise passes Michele's lips, his vision darkening. His eyelids closing. One of Emil's hands cradle the side of his face when the other man crawls over to him, kissing against Michele's lower lip. He relaxes, pressing another kiss into existence, and listening to Emil moan out a softer, blissful sound.

It feels… _good_.

That's not enough of a word to explain the sensation of countless, warm tingles spreading through Michele's body, like a droplet creating a ripple effect within him. Emil's a _good_ friend, and… they shouldn't… should they?

Michele's hands clutch roughly onto Emil's sides, dragging into the pajama-fabric, yanking him _closer_.

A camera-shutter noise. There's sudden, white flashes from the opposite side of the room. Michele turns his head around quickly, to see his twin sister holding up her mobile to face them, her black hair windswept.

"Oops," Sara mutters, wincing at her brother's helpless gurgling and flailing.

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